THE only one whom, Lida, thou canst love,Thou claim'st, and rightly claim'st, for only thee;He too is wholly thine; since doomed to roveFar from thee, in life's turmoils nought I see Save a thin veil, through which thy form I view, As though in clouds; with kindly smile and true,It cheers me, like the stars eterne that gleam Across the northern-lights' far-flick'ring beam.
1789.*
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